


Running From a Big Fat Fuck

by SpaceCatSophie



Category: South Park
Genre: Eric Cartman Being An Asshole, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Kyle Broflovski, Temporary Character Death, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCatSophie/pseuds/SpaceCatSophie
Summary: Eric Cartman has gone psychotic! When the other boys have had enough of him, he snaps. While he stalks the dusty streets of South Park with a revolver by his side, three fourths of the bus stop gang pack their bags and quietly board a Seattle-bound bus all by themselves. It's a game of cat and mouse, except the cat is racist and overweight...





	1. Running; Prologue

People always tell me that I'm lucky. 

Not that I don't understand where they're coming from. I mean, I've met so many celebrities, and been so close to the center of so many important events.

But they never mention all the times I've nearly died, all the times people do die before my very eyes. They never mention the hatred I've seen or the awful things I've been pressured into doing.

I've seen too many battles. People at each other's throats for no reason. A million torches, a million black eyes over nothing.

I'm too young to have seen, done, fought, this much. 

I've taken a lot of beatings. I've seen a lot of horrible things. I'm sick of it, but that's the way things are.

I am Kyle Broflovski.


	2. Running: Chapter One

Cartman walks up. I don't know why we call him Cartman. The adults call him Eric.

I'm guessing that it was some subconscious need to make him less human. 

Eric sounds like a nice enough kid, but the name Cartman is the marker that you should STOP. It is forever tainted by his crimes and his hate. 

He's been arrested six times and committed too many crimes to count. Hell, he's made a kid eat his own parents.

Some people ask me how I can ever stand up to him.

Well, his character, (especially his ego) may be larger than life, but his eye level is the same as mine. It's hard to be intimidated by someone who's just a kid, same as me.

Not to mention, I can take him in a fight. He's fat. A big fat fuck. The stupidity doesn't hurt, either.

He's not really scary, just really annoying. 

His voice reminds me of that. His voice is stupid, too. “Hey, you guyyys.”

“What's up, Cartman?” asks Kenny. 

“What's up!?” He looks astonished that there's some retarded thing we haven't heard. “Are you guys kidding? I just got 35 bucks closer to my new laptop! Plus some stupid old bitch’s driver's license.”

“Whoa, 35 bucks, dude! Wait. Driver's license? How did you get a-”

I cut Stan off, shooting Cartman a look. “Obviously he stole somebody's wallet. Cartman, find that poor woman and give her stuff back.”

“Hell yeah she's poor! Only 35 bucks in her wallet and one credit card!”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Cartman, we've been talking about this a long time, and…”

“Yeah,” picks up Kenny. “Cartman, you're a fat piece of shit and we don't wanna be your friend anymore.”

“Yeah, that's one way of putting it,” I say, crossing my arms smugly.

“Okay, fine! I don't need you guys! In fact, screw you guys, I'm going home!”

Stan rolls his eyes. “You do realize it's a school day.”

“Stan, I don't think that you little Jew-sympathizer understood me correctly. Screw. You. Guys. I'm. Going. Home.” He strides away, swinging his fat, short legs.

The bus squeaks up. As we file on, triumphant that we have rid ourselves of the sociopath, I can hear his whining cries behind us. 

Faintly, behind the sound of the engine, he screams, “Noo! Wait, wait up! You guys! I still wanna be brooooos!”

As they fall silent, I can imagine him stomping his foot and muttering bitter obscenities to himself. 

I laugh and give Stan and Kenny a high five. “We did it! Cartman is no longer our friend.”

Kenny gives a muffled cheer, “Woo-Hoo!”

Without fatass to disrupt everything, the rest of the day feels light and my faith in humanity rises slowly, building up like the stamina level of a recently inactive video game account. 

I learn about decimals in math, perspectives in English, and WWI in Social Studies. Nothing is unhinged by hate speeches or interrupted by… well, anything.

I like it when Cartman’s absent. 

Before I walk into my house, I turn around and wave to Butters, walking home too. He's a nice kid. 

“How was school, bubby? Did the kids blame you for 9/11 again?” asks Mom, a smile on her face. That's our little inside joke, although it was hardly funny at the time.

I laugh. “Nah, that's all in the past. My day was great, actually. I friend-broke-up with Cartman and then he stomped off, all bitter. I didn't see him the whole day! It was hilarious.”

“I'm sure. I never really liked that Cartman kid.”

“How could you? He wore a Hitler costume for Halloween one time.”

“An-y-way,” she continues, walking into the kitchen. Do you have any homework?”

“Oh! Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” I hop up the stairs, wanting to get this division stuff over with so that I can celebrate with Stan and Kenny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you've liked my story so far. If you haven't, your loss!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, more things happen in this chapter. Wow! Really? I can't believe it! Can you?

I look around my room. It's pretty generic, with blue walls, brown carpet, and red-and-blue drapes. 

Sitting down at my desk with the globe and the orca figurine (in honor of Willyziak) and cracking open my math textbook, I start reading off the questions and jotting down the answers in my notebook.

“Ten divided by five? Two. Forty-five divided by nine? Five. One hundred and forty-four divided by twelve? Twelve. This is fuckin’ easy, dude. I'll be done in no time.”

I am. It really was easy. Or, as Ike would say in his garbled, little kid way, “easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Where does that phrase even come from?

Whatever. Don't care. I flop onto my purple blankets, looking up at the ‘Go Cows!’ poster tacked to my wall. 

I text Stan and Kenny, “Hey, u guys! Super happy n ready 4 post Cartman life.

Stan replies, “Hellyeah!”

“Wbu, Kenny my bro?” I ask.

Kenny says nothing. I know he's on his cracked iPhone, but he's not replying.

“Kenny?” That's Stan. 

Oh, finally. There's a little ‘loading message’ thing next to Kenny’s profile pic, a topless woman’s tits.

For once, his message is in perfect grammar. “You guys, who's crazier? Cartman or me?”

“Cartman,” me and Stan reply at the same time. 

“Duh,” I add. “But y u ask”

“Um, my window just broke and Karen is terrified. I thought I saw Cartman walking around outside with his gun.”

Uh-oh. Cartman is armed and dangerous.

“Bro, this isn't good,” I text. 

I glance at my own window. 

Suddenly, the glass shatters and goes flying.

“Aah!” I crouch down, holding the lime green hat to my head.

A tiny shard hits me on the hand, stinging like hell but not leaving a mark.

I peer out the window. Sure enough, I see a fatass running for his life, probably to Stan's house.

I whip out my phone and tell the guys, “Kenny, ur not crazy. Fat tits just shot out my window 2.”

“WUT,” says Stan. “Is Cartman trying 2 kill us?”

“Hez done worse,” replies Kenny.

“Tru, very tru,” I say. 

Stan texts, “Well, if he his, what do we do?”

I think for a moment.

I say, “Tell someone at school.”

Kenny says, “Tell Chef.”

Stan says, “Tell our parents.”

Considering our options, I tap out, “Not Chef. He's gone, ‘member? Not our parents either. My mom would go bananas.”

Stan replies, “Ok. Som1 @ school then”

“Who?” A good question on Kenny’s part.

“Not Vice Principal Woman. She hasn't been around long enough,” reasons Stan. 

We brainstorm and brainstorm, but the only reasonable adults haven't been around very long. 

“We need someone who will believe that Cartman is trying 2 kill us, and who will help us out. None of the adults work, what bout a kid? A kid who knows how crazy Cartman is,” I say.

“Heidi!!!” texts Stan. “She'll help us!”

“Hey yeah!” exclaims Kenny. 

“Let's go find her,” I text. “Meet u @ Maple Street in 5”

“K”

“K”

I walk down the stairs and out the door, feeling unsure all of a sudden. Was Cartman really trying to kill us? Am I jumping the gun here?

Well, maybe he wasn't trying to kill us, but he was probably trying to get some sort of message across. Trying to scare us, warn us. 

Either way, there's no question of what he's capable of. Or his enormous stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am so sorry this one took me so long, just school has been insane and I've been trying to write a bunch of things at once. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and be sure to comment with your thoughts!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably kind of boring, but it's also kind of short. It'll be over in a flash, people!

Stan and Kenny are already waiting on the sidewalk. 

“You got pretty close to her a while back,” says Stan. “Do you know where she lives?”

I nod. “Yeah, and when we find her, I think I should do the talking.”

“Aww, does Kyle still have a crush on Heidi?” teases Kenny.

“Phh, I never did! Besides, no offense, but you guys aren't the best diplomats.”

Stan laughs. “Okay, that first thing you said? Total bullshit. You were practically dating her a while back, and when she turned into Cartman, you got the president to nuke Toronto over her. If that's not a crush, Brian Boitano isn't awesome, Mr. Garrison isn't gay, and Lorde isn't my dad. The second thing? You're right. Let's roll.”

I almost start stuttering, blushing, and continuing to categorically deny any previous or present crush on Heidi, but then I think better of it. There's stuff to be done.

We walk down the sidewalk, myself in the lead. To a random observer, it would look casual, three boys just going about their business. 

But inside our guts, or at least mine, settles a light, hollow ball of fear. I mean, who knows? This is bound to get crazy. 

When we reach Heidi's house, I shimmy my shoulders up and straighten my back as Stan leans forward and gently raps his red-mittened hand on their door three times.

I take a slow, solemn breath.

Her dad opens the door. He runs a beefy hand over his slicked-back blonde hair. 

“Yeah, what do you want?” he asks. 

“We're here to see Heidi, sir.” I add in the extra dash of respect to improve our chances of getting in.

“She's sick,” he replies, clearly surprised by being called ‘sir.’

“Yeah, we know,” I say, gesturing to Stan and Kenny. “Me and my friends here… were assigned by Ms. Sitthi, our new teacher now that our old one is president, to tell her the homework.”

“Oh, okay. C’mon in. Heidi's in her room, but be warned. She's a little moody from her breakup with Eric.”

Inside, I laugh. We all know she isn't sick, just recovering from that piece of shit she called a boyfriend. My guess? She's teaching herself how to be nice again, and I don't imagine it's easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You guys have my everlasting gratitude.


	5. Chapter Five

At home, I clear out my backpack and solemnly fold another shirt and other pairs of socks, pants, and underwear. Then in goes 2 maps, one of Colorado and another of the United States. I look around, trying to figure out what else I need. 

Well, every person needs food, water, and shelter. I can't fit a house into my pack, but I do have a water bottle! I quickly fill it up with lukewarm water from the bathroom sink, wiping water off the rim, screwing the top back on, and stuffing it into its little pocket. As for food, there's not a ton of room left, but I grab a bunch of Luna bars from the pantry and stuff them in. 

I feel like there's still something missing…

What is the one thing you need to get on a bus..?

A-ha! Cash!

I rush to my closet and open the plastic jar labeled, ‘$$$.’

It's filled with crumpled bills from doing chores around the house, but I wonder if it'll be enough.

Yeah, probably. Stan and Kenny will probably have some money of their own, and I haven't spent any of this in a while. Yeah, it'll be fine. I pack it in the front pocket of my bag.

Okay, everything is all taken care of. I grab my phone and look at some of my photos, just to reminisce. Oh, right, I need a charger too. I put that in, and remember the final thing I need. 

I need to talk to Ike. I don't think he would take my unexplained absence very well.

I walk to his room and sit on his bed. He's playing Minecraft on his computer.

“Ike?” I'm not super looking forward to this.

“Yeah?” he swivels around.

“Ike, I… I gotta go away for a while. Mom and Dad won't understand, but it's really the best thing. I know how to take care of myself. I'll be okay. So don't worry about me, no matter what. Okay?”

He looks confused, but nods. “Okay, Kyle.”

“Okay. See ya later.” I get up and go to bed.

Hopefully, that'll keep him calm when Mom inevitably becomes a nervous wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys. I've been in kind of a lull lately.


	6. Chapter Six

Okay. Okay. Okay. I'm doing this for real. I can't believe, it's just so much easier to stay here and suppress your worries that he's a psycho. But I kind of have to run, confront the fact that he's crazy, because my life is at stake here, not to mention Stan or Kenny.

It's just wild that stakes so high are spinning round so close to me, to this town, and we're finally making the first move to avoid it. Like we're finally acknowledging the craziness that goes on around here. 

The sun shines through my window and spills onto my pillow. I throw off my blankets and quickly pull on my hat, a jacket, and my sturdiest shoes. I wore my clothes to bed, so I didn't have to change in the morning. A small victory.

I'm just glad that this isn't my routine every morning; get up, grab my bag, and doubt everything I'm about to do.

“Kyle, where are you going?” asks Mom. 

“Oh, I'm going to the bus stop a little early to meet Kenny and Stan.”

“Okay, bubby. See you later.” She glances at my backpack but doesn't say anything.

I just nod, once, starting to wither on the inside. Do I really, truly have the guts for this?

Well, there's only one way to find out. I turn on my heel, give Mom a quick, firm hug, and trot out. 

Well, she probably thought that that was weird. But, eh, she's seen weirder. She's not going to put everything on hold for a weird hug.

Adrenaline rushes through my head, making my heart beat faster, harder- hold on a second. Is is weird if you can feel your heartbeat in your face?

Yes, that is definitely weird, but also definitely below the whole running-away thing on the weirdness scale and also something I shouldn't worry about right now.

It's cold out, and my breath floats up in the yellow sunlight like the curling puff of a smoker's last drag, but heat rises from my jittery body and gets trapped somewhere in my forever wintry Colorado clothes.

Just go forward, Kyle. One step, one step, you can make one step. Then another, another, despite the butterflies basically trying to murder my stomach.

Up ahead, I see a classmate. The shock of bright blonde hair is unmistakable.

I wave. “Hi, Butters!”

“Hi Kyle! Where are all the other fellers?”

I laugh. “Well, I don't know about Stan and Kenny, but Cartman? No doubt seething over us dumpin’ him like a sack of yesterday's turds.”

“Oh, Kyle, I don't know that you want to get on Eric’s bad side. He's kinda dangerous.”

“I know that, Butters. That's why,” my voice drops to a whisper. “Stan, Kenny, and I are running away. We think he would kill us otherwise.”

“Oh. Where are you going?”

“I honestly don't know. Somewhere far, far away.”

“Okay, good luck, Kyle. I sure do hope that you don't die.”

“Thanks, Butters. I sure hope you do well on your foreign countries project.”

“Gee, thanks, Kyle! I'm doing England! We'll miss you and the fellas at school.”

“See ya around.” I wave and keep on my way to the land of Pissed-Off Moms and Crazy Plans. 

The bus station is kind of far off in the outskirts of town, where the hicks get hickier and the necks get redder. It's where we went on that field trip to the cow ranch, and where Stan's gun nut Uncle Jimbo lives. But, yeah. Back to the bus station. 

It's a little tiny brick box painted white with a few splintered, sun-bleached benches out front. Kenny’s already sitting on one, almost empty backpack limp on one shoulder. 

He looks tired. I speedwalk across the deserted stretch of pavement and swing down next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make up for my long break by posting a couple chapters at once.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, dude.”

“Hey, Kyle.”

“Are you worried about doing this?”

He shrugs. “Not really. My parents are stupid as shit and nobody else cares.”

“Well, Kenny, all our parents are stupid. We don't have to like them, but we're legally obliged to love them.”

“Huh. I guess. The only thing I really feel bad about is leaving Karen behind.”

“I get ya. It's hard.”

“That's what she said,” he mumbles halfheartedly.

“It's gonna be okay, Kenny. We're gonna be okay.“

“What gives a fourth grader in some cow-shit redneck town the fucking authority to decide that?”

“Nothing, but it's really the only thing you can do. Just decide that this is gonna be okay.”

We sit in silence until Stan comes over. 

“Hey, Stan.”

His voice is cracking a little. “I just can't believe we're actually going to do this.”

“Yeah, I get it. It's nuts. Do you guys have some money for bus tickets?

“Yeah,” says Kenny, pulling out 15$.

“Yep.” Stan does the same. 

“Okay.” I grab my own money and walk up to the bus station window. 

“One ticket to… uh, Seattle, please,” I say, handing the lady my money. 

“Okay.” She doesn't ask anything about my fourth grade self going to Seattle alone.

Stan and Kenny follow me and do the same thing.

“Next bus is in 21 minutes,” she drones.

“Okay.” My voice sounds too plaintive, too childish, but her ears hear only the words and her eyes see only the money.

We go and sit a few hundred feet behind the station, leaning over to check Stan’s watch for 8:45 every 30 seconds.

“Kyle?” says my super best friend. 

“Yeah?”

“Heidi called you a dirty Jew?”

I study the grass. It's mostly dead and papery and brownish, matted over the green stuff.

“I guess. It's no big deal.”

“Kyle! That's awful! I can't believe she did that!”

I shrug. “Call it Cartman syndrome.”

“No. How could she? How could anyone but him be that racist?”  
.  
“He was blaming all their problems on her. When he shifted that onto me, she was caught off guard and accepted it.”

“How are you so okay with that?”

“Dunno. I've got other things on my mind. It wasn't her fault. I'm sick of fighting with everyone about everything. Take your pick.”

“Kyle! You should kick her ass! It was horrible of her to say that!”

“No! I'm fine! It's fine. It really wasn't her fault.”

He gives me a sweet little look that tells me he doesn't believe that in any capacity but he'll go along with it anyway.

I think I should change the topic.


End file.
